


A Different Kind of War

by tabru



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Friendship, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:00:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22687363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tabru/pseuds/tabru
Summary: During the War of Sauron and the Elves, Erestor and Elrond watch over an injured Glorfindel and discuss what it means to be a healer and a warrior.
Relationships: Erestor/Glorfindel (Tolkien)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39
Collections: 2020 My Slashy Valentine





	A Different Kind of War

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ysilme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ysilme/gifts).



**A Different Kind of War**

The green hills of Eriador were shifting to a deep purple as dusk began to settle upon them. The breeze was cool and gentle, and the clouds were melting into the darkening sky as the exhausted band of elves made their way home. It was hard to believe that no more than a few hours ago, they had all been engaged in a battle against the Enemy, that before the sun had set that day these peaceful hills had been ringing with the sounds of swords and shouts and screams. Yet now, with the Enemy driven back towards the mountains, a few of the elves were beginning a song to greet the first stars that blinked awake into the night, but Erestor did not much feel like joining with them.

“There,” said Elrond, who was kneeling in the back of the wagon Erestor was driving. “Nearly finished.”

Erestor turned his head to see Elrond gently tucking a fresh bandage around a wounded elf’s forearm, his fingers working so quickly, it was almost hard to follow their movements. Erestor could not help but marvel that mere hours ago those same fingers had been wrapped around the hilt of a sword.

“Thank you, my lord,” the injured elf said, and Elrond smiled down at him encouragingly, before turning to Erestor as the wagon jolted suddenly.

“Take some care, Erestor,” Elrond chided lightly. “Keep your eyes on the road ahead.”

“My apologies, Lord Elrond,” Erestor said, turning back to the pair of geldings he was guiding. “Though in truth, there is no road to speak of.”

Elrond slid into the empty seat beside him, grimacing at the darkness ahead. “Indeed,” he said. “Sometimes it feels as though we’re the first civilized folk to ever set foot in this land.”

“It is a lonely place,” Erestor agreed, leading the wagon through the rock-strewn landscape.

“We’ll be home, soon,” Elrond said, and he gave Erestor the same encouraging smile he’d given the wounded elf. “Imladris is not far.”

_Home._ Imladris was not home. Home was in Lindon, far to the west, far beyond these desolate, empty hills. Far from the shadow of the Misty Mountains that stood high and terrible above them. But there was no telling how long it would be before any of them saw home again.

These gloomy thoughts must have shown upon his face, for Elrond said: “I know it is hard, this waiting. Waiting for Gil-galad to break through the lines of Sauron, waiting for news from the west. Waiting to see if Númenor will come.” He sighed, and looked up at the stars. The sky was nearly black now. “But we must be patient. We must have faith in our friends.”

“I do,” Erestor said, and looked back again towards the elves lying in the wagon behind him. One of them had golden hair, partially obscured by a bandage wrapped neatly about his head. His eyes were closed.

“Eyes ahead, Erestor” Elrond said, and then added quietly: “He’ll be all right.”

“I know,” Erestor said, but he knew nothing of the sort. His heart twisted at the memory of Glorfindel being struck down in battle. Suddenly anxious for a distraction, he said: “I’m not sure how you do it.”

Elrond glanced at him, his brow raised in curiosity.

“Healing,” Erestor explained. “Healing, right after a battle. How do you put aside the warrior? The battle was hours ago, and yet I can still feel my heart pounding with it. And every time I think of it, I…” He shook his head. “You make it look so easy.”

For a moment, Erestor was certain that Elrond would not answer him. But eventually, the half-elf said: “It’s never been _easy_ …” He looked back up at the stars.

Fearing he was prying too much, and yet wanting to know more, Erestor pressed him. “It’s just that warriors don’t usually make for good healers. At least, that’s what they say. And I’ve never heard of a healer who went regularly from the houses of healing to the battle field.”

Elrond nodded, his eyes still fixed on the twinkling lights above.

“Forgive me, my lord, it’s surely none of my business, it’s just that…” he hesitated, then decided he may as well go for it: “I just wish I could heal the ones I love, as well as fight for them, as you do. But all I know is war.”

“Healing is war,” Elrond said quietly. “A different kind of war, perhaps, but a battle nonetheless. At the end of it all, they are of a similar nature, are they not? To stand between someone and the Halls of Mandos, whether through healing or force of arms, it’s always been the same to me.”

“I’ve…never thought of it that way,” Erestor mused. “Healing has always seemed a gentler art than wielding a sword.”

Elrond laughed at this, and the sound surprised Erestor. “My lord?”

“I’m sorry, my dear Erestor,” Elrond said, his eyes twinkling as bright as the stars above as he looked at the elf beside him. “I don’t mean to laugh. Your presumption is understandable, but there is nothing gentle about forcing a bone back into place or amputating a dying limb or being wrist-deep inside of someone’s belly while you try to sew them up.”

“I suppose…” Erestor said, trying not to let the mental image of a healer with his hands inside of another’s guts rise into his mind. “But I’ve still never heard of a healer who fights in battle—or even hunts afield for that matter, for sport or otherwise.”

“It isn’t common, it’s true,” Elrond admitted. “In fact, it was almost entirely unheard of once…except in the most desperate of circumstances.”

“What sort of desperate circumstances?” Erestor asked, for the way Elrond had spoken, it seemed he was trying not to give voice to some dark memory. Again, Erestor thought perhaps he should leave well enough alone, but his curiosity had been piqued and he was not one to lightly let go of a subject, especially one which interested him.

Elrond sighed and looked off into the darkness ahead, as though he could see a vision of the past dancing there, beyond the sight of everyone else that traveled with them.

“In my youth,” he said, “my brother and I had only each other to rely upon. When you are alone in an uncertain world, living in uncertain times, you do what you need to do to survive. Maglor taught us the healing arts, through music and thought and nature. And Maedhros taught us to fight, with sword and ax and bow. And we used these lessons to care for ourselves and each other. At first, I fought to protect my brother, and then I learned to fight to protect others. And I saved those that I could, with the sword and with healing.” Elrond turned to look back at Erestor. “I am a warrior and I am a healer, and these have never been in conflict. I know who I am.”

“I wish I could be as sure of myself as you are,” Erestor said.

Elrond placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sometimes,” he said, “we must allow others to show us who we are before we are ready to look for ourselves.” He nodded towards the back of the wagon, to where Glorfindel lay silent. “He believes in you. Let that knowledge strengthen you, so that you may strengthen him in return. That is all the surety you need.”

***  
Dawn arrived as a pale line across the horizon as the elves at last entered into the hidden valley of Imladris. It was a beautiful place, Erestor had to admit, despite the war pushing against them from all sides. Glorfindel had taken a liking to it, at least, and if it were good enough for him and for Elrond, then Erestor would stay as long as they required him to.

Relieved of his driving duties, Erestor was now spending the last leg of the journey in the rear of the wagon, sitting beside Glorfindel. Every breath was a reminder that Glorfindel was alive, yet every bruise and scrape was a reminder that Erestor had almost lost him.

“I can hear the waterfalls.”

Erestor, who had been peering over the edge of the cart at the approaching refuge, looked down quickly at the golden-haired elf blinking up at him. “We must be close to home.”

“Yes,” Erestor said, “and you’ve slept the entire way back, leaving me to do all the work. Do you know how hard it is to lead a wagon over rocky terrain in the pitch black of night?” He may have succeeded in sounding cross, had he not also been smiling so widely and foolishly.

“I may have rested better had you not jostled the cart so,” Glorfindel retorted, rising up onto his elbow.

“Don’t blame me,” Erestor said, “Lord Elrond has been in control of the wagon for the last hour and he’s nowhere near as skilled at it as I am. We’ve hit every bolder since entering the valley.”

“Ah,” Glorfindel said, loud enough so that Elrond was sure to hear. “We’ve finally found something the half-elf has no talent in.”

Elrond shot him a glare from over his shoulder and Erestor laughed. Glorfindel laughed, too, but then winced and laid back down again.

“Careful,” Erestor said, placing a steadying hand on his friend’s chest. “You should lie still. Elrond says you won’t be yourself again for a few days yet.”

“Nonsense, I’m fine,” Glorfindel said. “What does he know?”

“More than you.”

Glorfindel rolled his eyes, but acquiesced, and Erestor kept his hand upon his chest. He could feel the pulse of his heart against his palm. He felt almost that if he concentrated hard enough, he could keep it beating forever by sheer force of will.

“What are you doing?” Glorfindel asked after a moment.

Erestor shook his head. “Nothing, just…I’m glad you are well.” He made to remove his hand, but Glorfindel caught it with surprising quickness, and placed it back upon his chest.

“And I’m glad you are here,” Glorfindel said.

Erestor smiled. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Glorfindel smiled and shut his eyes. “That’s good to hear.”

And as the valley enfolded them into its sanctuary, and the sun began to rise above the waterfalls and fragrant pines, Erestor realized that perhaps he could make a home for himself in Imladris after all. But only as long as Glorfindel was here, too.


End file.
